


In Dreams We Wait

by theCasualViewer



Category: Under the oak tree - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Lemon, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 05:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30134673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theCasualViewer/pseuds/theCasualViewer
Summary: Based off the manwha, Under the Oak Tree. Just some snapshots in the story that I thought would be cute.
Relationships: Agnes and Maxi, Maxi and Ruth, Riftan and Maxi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	In Dreams We Wait

Max  
•I had quickly learned that raising my hand in defense would only guarantee ten more licks of the cane. According to father my flaw was in need of correction that only came from abuse. If I could not master my tongue, the only other choice was for him to beat me into submission. He didn’t care if he hit me hard enough for bone to break, he didn’t care if my skin broke and swelled around the areas he hit me. He didn’t even care that I was his child. My sex and impediment had made it impossible for him to love me. Fate had mocked me and created me to be an utterly despicable sight to my father. There was nothing I could do for him to be pleased with me, save die. But I am too much of a coward to die.  
I knew no one outside of these walls. I had my maid, who dressed me every morning and combed through my hair with the wrath of the seven hells. She hated me too, told me how useless I was every time she saw me. Whenever she would tell me how much my existence was a blight to the earth I would bite my tongue, holding back the dam of insults I wished to hurl at her. I could not let them free on account of my stuttering speech and the fact that this bitter old crone held more sway in my fathers eyes than I did. Speaking back would only get me a severe beating and no food for three days. There was no one on my side to defend me, as I had painfully learned throughout my life.  
Apart from the servants, my father and my sister, I knew no one. I was isolated the majority of the year, sealed in my bare room or the library, away from the prying eyes of the world and my vindictive father. But one night that changed.  
It was a blue moon that night, the shadows cast in my room offset by the bluish hue. I was lying in my bed, my legs stiff from the beating I had received a few short hours before. I bit back tears and gasps of pain as the wound on my feet throbbed with pain. I do not remember what I had done to warrant such punishment, but it had been enough for the Duke to beat me mercilessly.  
As I lay in my bed, unable to sleep due to the pain, I heard the familiar creek of my window. Frozen with fear, I felt as every sense in me heightened. The air felt feverishly brisk, and I swore I could hear the thrumming of my heart in my ears. I sat up quickly, my heart pounding loudly, and looked out my window.  
“H-hello?” I whispered, my voice even shakier than usual.  
Hearing nothing, I tentatively got out of my bed, wincing with pain as I walked to the window.  
Could it be an assassin? I thought to myself, and the thought made me shiver with...anticipation. Which both scared and saddened me. I was eager for the end.  
I stumbled over to the window, almost eagerly. I’d read in my books about assassins who would sneak into the windows of unsuspecting maidens, killing them quietly in their sleep. An assassin could solve so many of my problems, could end my miserable existence in the cold, unfeeling castle. I wrestled with the latch on the window, my hands growing clumsy as I hastily tried to open the latch. After a few jostles, I managed to open the window, flinging it open to find...nothing.  
Bitter disappointment rose in my throat and my bottom lip quivered with the force of my welling tears. I wanted to sink to my knees in disappointment. Release had been so close, within the grasp of my active imagination. To my shame, tears began to flow liberally from me. I swiped at them hastily, but the flood of them was almost too much for me to handle. They flowed through the cracks of my fingers, soaking me with bitter resentment.  
I rested my elbows on the ledge, bowing my head and letting my hair cover my face as I cried. Hope drained out of me drip by drip, ringing me out.  
Who was I to think myself so special, that I would be like the maiden in the stories I read? Had my father not told me, had not everyone I knew told me that I was nothing? So why was I convincing myself that I was worthy of being something?  
But just for that moment, I allowed myself to be disappointed. I allowed myself to wish that I was one of the girls that could be saved. 

Riftan  
-Being with Max was like bathing in the streams of Narcisso. She was like the warm water, enveloping me in her gentle embrace and coaxing me closer.  
I had known her before she knew me. Her father, that cold hearted son of a bitch, had hired me to rid his region of the werewolves that were plaguing his villagers. The Duke did not particularly care about his subjects, he was more worried over the fact that he could lose profits. After taking the job and agreeing on the considerably high pay, the Duke had invited me into his castle for a meal. Everything in me wanted to decline, but Ruth urged me to go as not going would only insult the petulant Duke. So I went, unaware that I would see the most beautiful woman in the world.  
I had heard rumors about the eldest Croix daughter, speculations as to why she was holed up in the castle year round with no one to visit her. Some said that she was deformed, that her face was too hideous to look upon. Others said that she was sick, just like her mother, and that her father kept her locked away so as to keep her alive. And yet others suggested that she was so beautiful, that any man who laid their eyes on her would instantly fall in love and go to any length to receive her hand in marriage, that some would even die if she asked them too.  
I never cared for the rumors, though I did find them amusing. My men and I would sit around a campfire, exchanging stories or rumors that we had heard and the Duke and his mysterious daughter was often mentioned.  
It came as no surprise to me when I dined with the Duke, that Maxi had not joined us. It would have been a shock if she had come, as this was notoriously against her character. All throughout dinner the Duke and his fellow dignitaries talked their ears off. They spoke of money, of land treaties, and most of all how to keep their vaults full. It was all so tiresome, the subject matter far beyond my realm of caring. The only other person seated at the table apart from the dignitaries, was the younger daughter Rosetta. She was very rude, and it was quite obvious that she thought very highly of herself. She was constantly rolling her eyes, or letting out deep suffering sighs whenever someone spoke to her. She was beautiful but her haughtiness made her ugly. I couldn’t help but notice how her nose would scrunch in disgust, like a pig, or how her eyes were stuck in a perpetual state of boredom. She was uninteresting, and I could only guess, unkind as well.  
As the party moved to the west side of the castle, where the duke kept his impressive library, I quickly made my escape. I thanked the Duke for his forced civility, and was walking through the garden when I glimpsed a flash of red in the corner of the garden. Quickly, I hid behind a tree. To this day I do not know what compelled me to do that. I wonder how differently things would have played out if I had just gone and confronted Maxi instead.  
But that night, for whatever reason, I decided to watch her.  
She was wearing a nightgown that came to her knees, exposing the slender milkiness of her legs. Her red hair was unbound and her luscious curls spilled all around her. She was resting her head against the side of the fountain, one arm tucked under her head and the other propping a book open. She looked serene and peaceful, her gorgeously vibrant eyes half closed as she read her book. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, the moonlight bathing her and giving her an ethereal glow.  
The strong desire to join her overwhelmed me. I desired to walk over to her, to have her look up at me and smile in surprise, whispering my name as I came close. I wanted to scoop her into my arms and sit with her as she read to me the book she was utterly engrossed in. But I did nothing, letting the vision remain solely in my head.  
I stood there for what felt like hours, watching as this goddess simply existed. Never before had I been short of courage, but that night I felt for the first time the absence of it. This woman that I had never met was already intoxicating my senses, and I longed to know her.  
Suddenly, a noise startled her. Her big doe eyes widened and she looked fearfully around her. Trembling, she closed her book and ran back into the castle, her red hair like a crimson cape flowing behind her. I wanted to call out to her, wanted to reach my hand out and ask her to wait. But I did not, instead watching like a lovestruck idiot as she ran out of my life, potentially forever.  
For the next few days I could think of nothing but her. My men noticed my inattention and heckled me, but as they did not know the root of my obsession, the teasings quickly ended. I thought about her constantly, and three nights after I had first seen her, I dreamed of her.  
I dreamed of her in the morning, her red hair unbound as she sat in my bed, her legs folded to the side as she read a book. In my dream she was wearing my tunic, though it was too big for her and exposed her shoulder and the top of the slope of her breasts. The sun glinted off her like an aura of golden light, almost as if blessing her. In one hand she held a book, and the other was laid lazily across her stomach. She did not notice me from where I was standing, so engrossed in the book was she. Almost as if I was in a trance, I walked towards her. As I drew closer I realized the protective hand she had lain over her stomach was protecting her pregnant belly. It was clear to my dream self that this child was mine, that we had conceived this miracle together.  
Dream Maxi looked up at me as I came close, her face erupting into the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. It made my heart ache and I climbed across the bed to her. She lifted her arm off her pregnant belly, beckoning me to lie my head on her lap. I eagerly obeyed her, resting my head against her and breathing in her scent. As she began to read to me, her hand began to play with my hair, twisting my locks playfully around her fingers in an absentminded way.  
Happiness like that I’ve never known filled me, and I closed my eyes as the warmth of the dream lulled my dream self to sleep.  
When I woke, I was alone on the cold ground, Maxi far out of my reach. 

Riftan  
-I tried my best to run the red headed girl out of my mind. For weeks I chased werewolves to the edges of Duke Croix’s terrain, slashing at them with my sword. It did me no good to be distracted by her, and it only made me seem weak. But despite my best efforts, she would infiltrate my dreams like a sweet perfume, or perhaps like a sickly sweet poison, intoxicating me with her existence. It flustered me, these vivid imaginations of a woman I had only had a glimpse off. And yet she plagued me.  
In one of my dreams we were in a meadow by my land. Her back was turned to me and she was wearing a dark, wool cloak. I was on my mount, and was still wearing my armor when I spotted her. My horse led me to her without my coaxing, as if it too was drawn to her presence.  
As we drew closer, I heard her humming. It was a simple tune, yet elegant and full of stories. I dismounted quietly, walking up beside her.  
“Riftan!” she said excitedly, lifting her beautiful face to look up at me. “You scared me!”  
Flowers lay strewn about her, and flower crowns lay nestled in her lap. I picked one up tenderly, examining her work.  
“What are these for?” I asked.  
“They’re for the young maidens for the spring festival.” she explained. “Legend says that these flowers attract one’s kindred soul.”  
“Hmm.” I replied, delicately fingering the small flowers.  
“And it looks like they work.” she told me, obviously pleased with herself.  
“How is that?” I asked. “Have you found a kindred spirit?”  
Jealousy flared hot within me, and I flung the crown onto the ground.  
“Yes, silly.” she laughed. “You.”  
"Good." I growled, nuzzling up against her.  
She laughed again, the sound a joyous symphony in my ears. She grabbed my cheeks with her hands, pulling my face down to kiss her.  
And just as quickly as the dream started, it ended.  
I woke up with the bitter tang of disappointment in my mouth, earnestly wishing that my dream was real. I had never experienced such pure happiness as the dreams evoked in me. And every time I woke up was another reminder that she was not by my side, nor would she ever be. 

Max  
-I am not much of a dreamer, but when I do dream, they consist mainly of nightmares. My father is usually the source of my nightmares, his voice screaming after me as I try to escape. In those dreams something would always stop me. Once, I dreamed of being stuck in a tar pit, the sticky substance pulling me down as I struggled to move forward. In other dreams, I would be running through the woods with my father’s hunting dogs snapping at my feet. In each iteration of my dream I never escaped. The end of the dream would either find me dead, or captured in the hands of my vengeful father as I screamed for help. Each time I dreamed I would wake up in cold shivers, unable to shake the horrors of my dream.  
But one night, my dreams consisted of something entirely different. In my dream I found myself sitting under an oak tree, looking up through the leaves as bits of sunlight shone through. A warm breeze caressed my cheeks, bringing the sweet scent of spring. It was a peaceful scene, one free of the horrors of my daily life.  
I sat there for what felt like hours, resting in the sunlight and relaxing in the warm, spring breeze. Peace does not come easily to me, but in that dream I experienced peace like I had never known. In my dream my eyelids grew heavy with sleep. I tried to fight the urge to fall back into sleep, but my dream self was determined to sleep, and would not fully open her eyes.  
A voice that I have never heard before called out to me. My dream self barely lifted her head, her eyes blurry with fatigue. She smiled as the figure came close. The figure was tall, and blurry to my gaze. I knew it was a man by the way he confidently walked to me, though my eyes could discern no other distinguishable features. The figure walked towards me and plopped down beside me. Something in me trusted this man wholeheartedly, and my dream body eagerly nestled into him. The man wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in.  
He smelled distinctly of leather and soap, a manly, clean scent and I nuzzled my nose into his neck. His arm clutched me to him protectively, as if shielding me. Warmness flooded me and I let out a long sigh, my eyes finally closing shut.  
When I woke in the morning I promptly forgot it, though the feeling of being loved remained with me for the rest of the day.


End file.
